Deteriorate
by captain deadfield
Summary: Chris wakes up from what he believed to be real and is thrust back into the game, facing a new reality brought before him. Despite the world being doomed, he has Piers back, and somehow this alternative is better than what he had been faced with before. What was a nightmare, and what really happened? Or is this all just inside of his head?
1. Prologue

Days, months, years… it didn't matter. This wasn't the first time he'd lost a partner, and no amount of time would be able to console him, because he would _always_ lose a partner.

With every heavy second that passed, he felt as if his heart was being stretched thinner than an angel's hair, and he struggled to take those moments long passed in his memory and hold onto them as if he was still there, refreshing them, trying to keep time from obscuring them.

No amount of clock-ticking would let him forget that last smile behind the glass window he wished he could break. It was an image burned like a scar in his soul, and he both cherished and abhorred it. Oftentimes, he wished he could or would forget, and other times he was convinced that he would never trade any of his memories for anything, even to for the sake of healing, because he knew what it was like to lose them.

_I couldn't do anything_, he told himself.

That was worse than if there actually had been a way to save Piers. The fact of the matter was that Piers was doomed the moment they stepped into that facility, and there was no chance to help him, even if they had both got out. That feeling of helplessness and hopelessness was the hardest to accept. It was a harsh reality, but instead of retreating to booze this time, Chris had to respect and honor Piers' sacrifice, even if that meant suffering without solace.

And while his mind throbbed, his body felt as if it was beginning to refuse to bear the weight of air any more. He was exhausted, and after desperately trying to continue through the various campaigns he undertook as a Captain in the BSAA after Piers' death, eventually he couldn't continue.

So he stepped down from active duty and retired to a simple base Captain instead.

But through a thousand sleepless nights, he still laid there, unblinking, half between awakeness and dreaming, staring up with transfixed eyes at the shadows on the walls moving like ghosts above his head, intangible and unreachable. They swirled, floated, and fluttered in unfamiliar shapes with familiar faces, and oftentimes they skipped around the room like a scratched CD as if they were trying to get somewhere or finish something that had never quite got done, and were perpetually stuck replaying the same little tune.

When he tried to reach out to them with the shadow of his own hand, they would scuttle away together like those little fish one often sees in pet stores. Then, very hesitantly, they would return to their usual grotesque dances.

Every night, he watched them consume flickering blue light, while over and over again, he listened to their whispering song fragments,

_ you _

_ you should have been the one_

_the one who_

_ died._


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE **

_Our careless feet leaving trails_

_Never minding the fragile dirt _

_We all end in_

_December 2__nd__, 2013_

Almost four months had passed since the incident in China. The grass hadn't started growing up over the grave yet – it was too cold, too bleak, and it would be for a while. There wasn't even a body buried underneath the frostbitten ground, just an empty casket covered by an American flag – a true soldier's burial.

A gust of crisp winter air chilled Chris to the core. This was the first time he had made a visit to the graveyard since the funeral; the first time he had brought up enough courage in himself to do so. He was afraid of what Piers might think of the news Chris had to bring. He was afraid of disappointing him; especially after all they had been through and all of Piers' sacrifices.

"I stayed in the BSAA, just like you wanted."

He pulled Piers' sleeve emblem from the pocket inside of his coat, held it to his chest, then crouched on one knee and put his other gloved hand on the colorless headstone as if he was clutching his partner's warm shoulder once again.

"But…" his voice trailed off into a silence only broken by the rustling and crackling of a naked tree in the frostbitten wind, "I don't fight any more."

And with a vaccine for the C-virus now available, among other things, the world might soon be on a slow but steady road to recovery. The world didn't need heroes like Chris Redfield any more. Hell, he wasn't even that much of a hero.

That's what he tried to tell himself, anyways, but was it really an excuse?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought from his mind and decided to change the subject before he was surely reprimanded by the younger man. "Last time I was in the States was to recruit you." A defeated smile cracked on the older man's lips for a split moment, but he didn't quite realize how unreasonable the notion of being lectured at by a ghost actually was.

* * *

_3 ½ years ago…_

The first thing that reached Chris' ears was the sound of a high-caliber rifle firing off and the subsequent cheering of an Army squad congratulating their comrade on a great shot.

The target had endured more than enough bullets to the head; it was easy to see even from all the way at the other end of the range. The gunman responsible was an exceptional marksman. Arguably, he was even the best in the Army.

The person receiving those awed cheers was a young Special Forces sniper named Piers Nivans. Being in the Special Forces of the Army was a feat in itself, but Nivans peaked Chris' interest for a few more reasons than just that: he was considered the best marksman, but it was especially alluring that he was a spirited, dedicated soldier.

"Nice work," said Chris as he stepped up towards the group, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his eyes fixed on the back of _his_ target's head.

The target, Piers, turned to face the owner of the unfamiliar voice. He looked at the older man for a few seconds before a smile of recognition crept onto his face and a pure admiration lighted his eyes. "You're Chris Redfield," he blurted out at first, then quickly cleared his throat and corrected himself on his manners, erasing the childlike grin and replacing it with the stereotypical stoic nod of a real soldier. "Thank you, Sir."

Chris offered an affirmative nod. "I've heard a lot of good things about you, Piers."

"Likewise…" the younger man responded, that wistful glow of awe returning to his visage. He couldn't help it. He was practically meeting a celebrity, and not just any celebrity – a real hero, someone he idolized and admired. _Chris Redfield. _

"I want you to join the BSAA and be a part of my team."

"I'd be honored to," Piers started, paused, and held one hand out for a confirmation handshake, "Captain."

* * *

"God dammit."

Chris hung his head, staring down at the dead, settled dirt. He sat there for a long time in silence, just staring, thinking, and he had no idea how much time passed until he heard his name being called by a soft female voice. His bones groaned in his stiff, cold body as he turned to gaze on the woman slowly approaching from across the graveyard, her long blond hair and black scarf fluttering behind her. "Jill."

"Chris. I'm glad I found you," she responded as she knelt beside him and caught his eyes with her own.

"Why?"

"I came to visit… I asked around, but nobody had seen you for days. When I heard what happened, I ," she paused suddenly, tore her gaze away from his and looked at his clenched hand instead, recognizing the object held tightly between his fingers as a BSAA sleeve emblem. She put one of her own hands over his, and her other hand went to caress his cheek as she slowly lifted her eyes to his again. "I want to help you, Chris. You helped me when I needed it-"

"You don't owe me anything," Chris interrupted her speech and slowly stood up, then began walking away down the path to the exit.

Jill stood too; however, she didn't go after him immediately. She merely watch Chris' silhouette disappear in the snowy evening. The funny thing was that he didn't give off an air of coldness or harshness in what he said or did… just indifference, and that listless hopelessness emanating off of him was the worst thing she could have imagined. He had no drive any more, no hope, no passion, no anger. Nothing.

She knew that the emotion of his very soul had died along with Piers.

She knew he felt nothingness.

She knew he was empty.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

_There is no light out of all the places_

_There is no sign of our help_

_There is no time and a chance of relations_

_What if I choose to live?_

Physically leaving the graveyard wasn't the problem. The problem Chris had was recollecting himself and piecing himself back together in a stable condition, especially since he was exhausted and running on about two hours of sleep in the last three days. He was listless, distracted, distraught. His confrontation with Jill had his mind turning and squeezing into jagged, asymmetrical shapes.

He didn't even realize the stoplight had already turned red.

But he didn't feel, hear, or see much when the other car hit him, and that was some dumb luck regardless of whether or not Chris himself believed he had luck at all, considering.

* * *

Chris awoke with a start, panting heavily and sweating like he had just run a marathon. The only things he recalled of the crash was the faint sound of glass shattering far away like someone broke the neighbor's window with a baseball. There was that, and the also faraway echo of a metal on metal impact crunching in a sickly cacophony of scrapes, squeals, and groans when, presumably, the cars had skidded on the rough pavement.

"Captain?"

The older man turned his head to the source of the voice and laid his eyes on none other than Piers himself, sitting close by in full BSAA gear on a small metal chair at some improvised BSAA base.

Chris was frozen there for what seemed like an eternity, his mouth slightly agape, his heart racing in his chest so fast he thought it would burst. "Piers…" the name dripped from his tongue like the liquid fire that instantly reignited in his soul. He unsuccessfully struggled to hold back tears of joy, and for the moment, he wasn't even ashamed to feel the unfamiliar warmth of a single salty tear stream down his face. "You – you're alive."

The smooth, unscathed, unscarred face of the younger male crinkled in immediate concern, almost panic, and his brows narrowed to a dangerous crease as he took the glove off of one of his hands and reached out to feel the temperature of Chris' forehead. "You've got a fever," he announced in a whisper before getting up to rummage through one of their supply packs, retrieving a bottle of water that was promptly offered over. "Here."

Tentatively, Chris glanced between his partner and took the bottle of water. He stared down at the clear liquid for a moment before he shook his head just so slightly. "No, where are we? How did you-?"

His inquiries were immediately cut off. "Drink the water, your body needs it," said Piers quietly but urgently, purposely avoiding the questions. "You're sick."

A small sigh parted from Chris' throat and he raised the water bottle to his lips, gulped it a bit too fast down his rough throat and then sputtered the water out on himself, coughing abrasively. When he finally caught his breath, he asked, "What happened?" Only when he asked that question fully did he find enough concentration to gather himself into his surroundings. It was late at night, that was for sure, but the BSAA base was bustling about frantically. Was he in Africa? China? Europe? Somehow his recent memories escaped him, probably due to the headache now pounding at his skull. And, not to mention, he was bandaged up on a medical cot.

Piers seemed reluctant to say much at first. He averted his gaze from Chris, glanced at the doorway behind him, and let out a small sigh. He knew this was coming, and the moment was finally here. Chris had no recollection of the event, but when Piers explained, he knew his Captain would be more than disappointed. Hell, he might even be furious enough to want to kill him, but living with Chris hating him was better than living without Chris at all.

"I failed, Captain," he said finally.

"Piers, what are you talking about?" Chris narrowed his brows just slightly and turned his head, searching for his partner's eyes.

The younger male lifted his head and through a clenched jaw, announced bitterly, "Ada got away, and Jake Muller and Sherry Birkin are dead. There won't be a cure for the C-virus, and the world's gone to shit because I couldn't leave you." His trembling voice had risen from that cool whisper to a guilty choke. "I couldn't leave you and continue the mission, Chris, and now look what's happened." He fell silent for a long moment and breathed heavily. "I had to make a choice, and it was selfish of me to sacrifice the world for one man, but I couldn't leave you to die there. I wouldn't."

The older man understood the raw fear that was inside Piers – it was the fear of losing someone he loved so dearly that he didn't care what the consequences were to save that person. It was in the way the other male's voice shook, the way his hands trembled, and how his glossy hazel eyes threatened to spill out in silent tears.

He had felt the exact same thing in that nightmare… He knew too well the toll it would take on either of them if they had lost each other, but what was the cost? At one point in his dream, Chris had wished there was a way they both could have survived, even if the entire world was doomed. He just wished everything could go back to the way it was: fighting bioterrorism alongside his partner. But, that was in his dream, and this… This was the reality. This was his wish.

Now that he was awake, seeing that face and hearing that voice again after what seemed like forever, he wasn't disappointed in Piers' decision at all, admitting to himself he would have done the same thing in that situation.

"It's alright, Piers," he attempted to console the man by putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fix this. Together."


End file.
